


The Guest

by girlskylark



Series: This Is Summer [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Anxiety, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Keith works in a law firm WOO, M/M, Medium Keith, Mental Health Issues, Older Characters, References to Depression, Suicide, lance is dead, soft epilogue for the feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-20 07:43:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10658028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlskylark/pseuds/girlskylark
Summary: Keith's out of college, and thanks to Pidge, has started up a side-business that involves temporarily bringing back regretful suicide victims to reconcile with their family or friends, or significant others.





	The Guest

**Author's Note:**

> I thought of this recently and wanted to write it down, so here it is! I dunno if I'll do anything else to it, but... for the time being here's an extended epilogue :) 
> 
> Y'all can find me on [my tumblr](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/)! :D

“I’m doing fine, Pidge. How’s your internship?” Keith asked, tucking his phone between his ear and shoulder as he reached up to grab two cups from the cabinet. But then he heard Pidge’s voice come back, annoyed as per usual with him, and lowered them back down with a glass in either hand. “Oh, come on. I call you enough! What, you want me to call every fucking day? I don’t have time for that.”

“Clearly, because you’d rather talk to the dead than living people, huh?” she muttered, and when Keith didn’t answer, she moaned and said, “God, there’s one in your house right now, isn’t there?”

“It’s called a _side job_ , Pidge,” he hissed, glancing at his guest, and his client sitting at his island counter. He smiled apologetically. “In case you forgot, I asked _‘How is your internship?’_ ” he stressed, already getting annoyed with this entire ordeal. It smelled like someone threw a citrus bomb into his kitchen, and he certainly wasn’t planning on dealing with that all day.

“Ugh, you’re so unbelievable. I never should have helped you set up this stupid secret business of your’s.”

“And thanks to you, it actually works. And also, I’m not being hounded by the government over it either so it all works out,” Keith said with a smile, and his client offered a wink, as if to say that the secret was between the two of them. It wasn’t like temporarily bringing back suicide victims was exactly encouraged by the government. It wasn’t even a _sure_ thing, either. It took ages for Keith to get it right after a few mishaps at the start—who knew he’d ever be able to do this in the first place? And while he loved his normal, full-time job spending _hours_ in a cubicle helping _other_ more _powerful people_ work through their cases… this was definitely one way to relax after a long day.

So he talked to Pidge while his guest and client chatted over the counter, and drank the wine Keith kept for times like these. It wasn’t exactly easy being reunited, especially on the guest’s part. So he wasn’t surprised when the white-haired man downed the glass in one go and went to the bottle for more. 

Keith went to sit atop his counter as Pidge said, “I hate everything. I hate life. Why do they expect us to have time for a paid internship on top of school? It’s the _worst_. If I die, don’t bring me back.”

“I’m not sure if I could even if I tried,” Keith laughed, “I’m sure you’d be a hundred percent all-in—you’re just that kind of girl. Those are hard to come back from, ya know. Also, stop acting like this is all superficial.”

“I know it’s not, _mom_. It’s just funny.”

“Then you have an _incredibly_ dark sense of humor. I’m not sure if we can be friends,” he said, smirking as he took his half-empty glass of wine and sipped from it. Pidge chattered for a bit while Keith studied the muted orange beard on his client, smiling in that saddened way Keith grew to admire. It meant so much to him, being able to see the look on his client’s faces. It meant so much more to be able to talk to people like Lance, who regretted it more than anything. It gave some part of this purpose, even if some people might label it as “immoral” or “inhumane.” But the truth of the matter was this:

It was all Lance’s idea.

“—I could talk for hours, but I should probably let you get to it. Call me later, if you can,” Pidge said, and Keith agreed to it before they parted ways. He shut his phone off completely and slid it onto the counter. The sound of it called attention to him, and he found both men in his kitchen now looking at him. 

“Thank you so much for doing this,” his guest, Alfor, said, sliding off his chair to come to Keith. He took Keith by the hand and encased it in both of his, giving him a squeeze. 

“It’s no problem,” he said, his smile tense as he observed Coran again before looking Alfor in the eyes. The man was older, and he remembered how the case had been a tough decision. There were a lot of specifics to it, figuring out who to and who not to bring back. But even if Alfor had a terminal illness, Keith figured… he would have wanted to spend more time with his husband—healthy, and not ill and bedridden like before he killed himself. 

So… terminally ill patients were on Keith’s list now. It made him feel guilty for not accepting previous ones before this. There were too many people to care for, alive or dead.

“You said there were… details to this you haven’t gone over,” Coran commented from the counter, cradling the wine glass between his gnarled hands. His thick head of ginger hair was pale from age, but his blue eyes were bright as ever. Keith felt them follow him across the kitchen as he came to stand opposite Coran, and Alfor when he returned to his husband’s side.

“Yeah, it’s just general stuff. Like, visiting past friends, relatives, et cetera—which is why I recommend going on vacation. Doing anything dangerous that could put Alfor in jail, or in the hospital. Guests usually don’t have any physical problems when they return, regardless of how they left… our world I guess,” Keith explained with a wince. He was still terrible with words—which was ridiculous considering he excelled at it when it came to writing reports and papers for his boss. “But, Coran, we already went over this, but just to reiterate—no questions about the afterlife. Alfor won’t remember the last month of his life, let alone what it’s like in the afterlife. And if he does, he naturally won’t be able to talk about it. And Alfor—don’t think too hard on it. I heard it causes headaches.”

“Understood,” Alfor replied with a smile. “So if nothing’s… _physically_ wrong—”

“Mental illnesses tend to stick, at least in our world, unless it’s severe. I can’t talk about previous guests much, but… mental disorders like schizophrenia, dissociative, or nerve damage-slash-brain damage don’t stick around,” Keith explained. “Also, as for care… you’ll still have to eat, go to the bathroom, clean up as much as necessary. And you know your time limit.”

“Yes, I’ll return at my leisure,” Alfor answered, and they shared a soft smile before Alfor turned to look at Coran. Coran’s eyes were red, his nose tinted pink, so Keith nudged the Kleenex box closer. 

They talked for a while about the specifics, reiterating things in Keith’s contract he sent out to his clients. They ended on the topic of their vacation—all vacations of these kinds involved an element of… secrecy. So he was a bit surprised when Coran answered with, “Oh, we’re just going on a cruise to Hawaii. I have a friend from back in the day, from the Navy, who captains the ship. So we’re both covered for, and he’s never met Alfor, so we should be fine.”

“That’s incredible. And remember that he stays in the pictures. Those don’t disappear,” Keith warned as he held open his apartment door for them. Coran laughed, and Alfor clapped Keith on the shoulder as he passed.

“You’re a good kid, Keith. I hope… everything’s all right with you,” Alfor said, thick white eyebrows tipping up, as if accusing Keith of being the complete opposite. 

Keith’s smile tightened, like it was slowly being crushed in a vice. He heard that phrase too often from his guests. “Everything’s fine, thank you. Have a nice trip, and call me if you have any questions,” he said, waving to them and perhaps too hastily shutting the door behind them.

He breathed in, chest tight, and removed his hand from the handle. _Why do they always have to say that?_ Keith complained internally as he breathed out, “For fuck’s sake.” He was home alone again, but lately it never felt like that. It never felt like he was _ever_ alone, and maybe it was the supposed “Big Guy” looking over him, silently judging his decision on who he brought back and who he didn’t. There wasn’t exactly a pamphlet giving him instructions here.

It didn’t stop him from feeling guilty after every guest left his apartment.

He went to the kitchen and cleaned out the glasses in the sink before going for a beer in the fridge. He popped the cap off on the counter and gulped down several mouthfuls before gasping for air. This wasn’t fair. No one should be able to do this. Sure, mediums were one thing, and he was fine with that, but he never even considered himself a medium. He just _wasn’t_. He was just a guy who smelled weird things and saw weird shit on a daily basis. It was _normal_ to smell alfalfa hay when he thought the name “Coran,” or to smell molten steel when he thought of “Alfor.” 

It was _normal_ to smell chlorine every now and then, shifting in intensity, swaying like the tides. It was particularly strong when he wandered to his bedroom and stared at the occupied space on his bed. “Big Guy says this is doing wonders to your hubris,” Lance said, lifting his chest up as he nestled down on the comforter, shirt lifting up. It would have been fine if Lance wasn’t dead, and Lance wasn’t the same age Keith left him at. 

They were five years apart now, and Keith felt it like a wedge in his chest whenever he saw the sophomore-in-college, rebellious-to-a-fault man making his appearance in his apartment on rare occasions. Usually after he brought back _anyone_ from the other side.

“You’re just saying that,” Keith hissed, taking another drink before moving over to his stereo. The same one from his and Lance’s apartment. He pushed down the Bluetooth button as Lance talked again.

“You know, you always look so sexy with five o’ clock shadow going on. And I’m not talkin’ about the bags under your eyes—which _are_ a real problem. Are you not sleeping well?” he asked, arms stretched high over his head as Keith studied his phone, flicking through his songs as he moved to stand at the edge of the bed. 

“C’mon, Lance, you shouldn’t be here,” Keith said.

“S’not my fault you basically give me an open portal every time you bring someone back. I see an open door, I walk through it,” Lance said, giggling as Keith glared at him, sipping from his bottle with his fingers holding lazily onto the neck of it. Lance bit his lip, grinning up at Keith. “Why are you being so stubborn?”

“Because this is getting weird. I’ve told you this before,” Keith said.

“Oh come on. You want me to come back looking thirty and smoking hot?” Lance asked, sitting up and scooting over to make room for Keith. “Because I think I can pull that off. I mean, I got a new shirt, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but you still have _my_ shirt. When am I getting that back, by the way?” Keith asked, narrowing his eyes at Lance as he sat down on the edge of his bed and kicked off his shoes.

“As soon as you give me back the shirt Shiro framed for you. I mean, I get a kick out of it, but… Big Guy says that isn’t helping the whole… ‘defying God’ thing.”

“You’re so full of it,” Keith scoffed, unzipping his work pants and nudging them off. He kicked them onto the floor, and Lance ‘Ooh’ed at the sight.

“God, you’ve got _legs now_. You been working out more? I know last time we talked you were taking a break from working out,” Lance said, crawling over and dragging his fingers up and down Keith’s thigh as he unbuttoned his shirt. Keith glared at him, and Lance sighed and slapped his hands down on the comforter. “C’mon, what is it? I said I’d back off if you found someone better than me. What is it? You don’t like me anymore?”

“It’s not that—”

“I bet if I was still alive, we’d’ve already broken up with the way you’re acting,” Lance said, and Keith shoved him _hard_ in the shoulder for it.

“ _Don’t_ say that. Don’t say it so… _flippantly_. If anything _my_ hubris isn’t the one that’s inflated here,” he hissed at Lance, and seriously regretted it afterwards. Lance’s eyes went wide and glassy as they stared each other down, and eventually he dropped his hands onto his lap, twisting them together as Keith sighed shakily, saying, “I’m sorry. That wasn’t nice. And _yes_ , I have been working out. Shiro suggested I pick up running, and he’s been helping me with strength training so yeah. Been working out.”

He wasn’t looking at Lance to see him swallow hard before saying, “Cool, cool. How’s Shiro been?”

“Fine. Still dating Ulaz. Y’know. The usual,” he said, rubbing a hand up the side of his face before tugging off his shirt and tossing it aside. “I’m really tired.”

“I bet,” Lance said, voice quiet as Keith flopped over onto his side. Lance was still sitting there, legs splayed to the side, hands on his lap as he watched Keith lay down. Eventually, Keith flopped his hand down and patted the spot next to him for Lance to lay.

When they were side by side, staring up at the ceiling, Keith asked, “What’s the matter? Why’d you come back?”

He _knew_ Lance was crying, so he wasn’t surprised to hear him sniffle before saying, “Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

“I know. You’re right,” he said softly. “I can’t tell you. But… I also just really miss you, but every time I come back it makes me sad. I think it’s the reason why I’m so depressed right now—it’s hard to explain. Like… when something terrible’s going on, but you can’t help but _look at it_. That’s like… me coming back. Everything’s fine and stuff! But… But when I come back, i-it’s just… _not_.”

Keith reached a hand out and clasped it over Lance’s, giving it a squeeze. A sob came from Lance’s lips, and he turned to cry as hard as he could against Keith’s shoulder. He squeezed Keith’s hand so tight he thought his fingers might cramp. They laid together until Lance’s shoulders only shook, and Keith’s arm was damp from Lance’s tears. 

Eventually, Lance murmured, “I’m so immature still…”

“No you’re not. I’ve already told you my theory,” Keith sighed, and stretched his arm up to wrap it around Lance’s shoulders. “You shouldn’t come back here if all your mental problems stick around on Earth. You shouldn’t put yourself through that just to see me.”

Lance sniffed, rubbing at his eyes before saying, “B-But why is it just me? You said you had o-other guests come back who h-had anxiety and depression and stuff and th-they were fine.”

“I know. I don’t know what it is,” he confessed, and they fell into silence. Thinking about it. Tears seemed to spill from Lance’s eyelashes without him even realizing, so Keith reached over to his nightstand and offered a tissue. “Lance… I really think you shouldn’t come back.”

“Y-You’re just saying th-that because you’re sick of me. I overstayed my welcome…” Lance’s voice turned into a whine, and then dissolved into sobs as he sat up, pushing his head into his hands and crying harder than he ever had before. Sure, Lance coming back usually meant waterworks came as well, but Keith was honestly terrified of it. He sat up in bed, wondering just how close they were to their last fight. 

“I _swear_ I’m not sick of you,” Keith said sternly. “I _never_ said that—I still—I still _really_ love you, Lance, and it sucks because we can’t keep this up!”

He scooted over and wrapped his arms around Lance from behind, holding him close as he tried to talk but couldn’t. So Keith continued while Lance tried to regain his breath, and calm the adrenaline pumping in his veins. “I love you so much, why else would I keep leaving… those open doorways for you? And I know it seems like I don’t like it when you come back, but it’s just because I hate being reminded that we can’t get married like you wanted, or… adopted kids because I know you like kids. You coulda been… like… one of those cool-as-fuck modern stay-at-home dads or something, and saved the planet or whatever. Whatever you wanted.”

“I-I woulda been a fucking cool stay-at-home dad,” Lance laughed, hiccuping. 

“I know right? You woulda fucking kicked ass at it.”

“Yeah. But I want to save the planet to.”

“Totally.”

“Like… help create sustainable farming because fertilizers are destroying the ocean and killing everything. Destroying the water we drink.”

“Yeah, I could totally get behind you stopping that from happening. What if you, like, worked on cleaning up the water and ecosystems the fertilizers destroyed,” Keith suggested, and Lance nodded, clinging his hands to Keith’s arms. “You’d get to go scuba diving and shit. I’m jealous.”

“Nah, you’d get to come with. Scuba diving, I mean, not saving the planet. That’s my job,” Lance said, giggling. Keith laughed, tucking his smile into the crook of Lance’s neck and shoulder, and letting the chlorine seep into his very being. “And I’d talk to you all about my coworkers and you’d tell me what their names smell like.”

“Yeah,” _That’d be fun_ , Keith thought, feeling the warmth starting to fizzle in his chest all over again.

They laid down on the bed again, facing each other and talking about life and what it could have been like. They talked until Keith fell asleep against Lance’s chest, breathing softly and contently into the fabric of Lance’s new shirt. The music played softly in the background, easing them both to sleep, so in the morning, it felt like nothing had changed at all except for the warmth blossoming in Keith’s chest. It felt like just another day, but better than just that. He got up from the empty bed and stretched, and wandered over to the other nightstand where he noted a hot pink Post-It note slapped onto the dark wood. 

_Hey,_

_I had to get going. But have a nice day!_

_Love, your favorite Lance._

Keith smiled at it and plucked it off. He went to his closest where he kicked in his clothes from yesterday, and turned to the other side of the open door. He stuck Lance’s note to all the others—all the other twenty-some stuck across the wooden door where he could read them every day he changed for work. It helped Keith start his day on a better note.


End file.
